


No Shit There I was, Undercover in a Gay Bar...

by LBibliophile



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bingo Fill, Deaf Clint Barton, Identity Porn, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tony Stark Bingo 2019, Undercover As Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 23:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LBibliophile/pseuds/LBibliophile
Summary: No shit there I was, undercover in a gay bar... and you'll never guess who I ran into and how.Written for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019 - S5: Undercover in a gay bar





	No Shit There I was, Undercover in a Gay Bar...

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea for this fic when I first saw my bingo card 7 months ago, and finished it with a day left before the deadline. I lost motivation for most of that time, so the story ended up more rushed than I would like.  
Blame Clint. He's telling it.

Most unexpected outcome from a mission? That’s a hard one. You wouldn’t believe the Hawkeye luck – good and bad. But one of my favourites is the time I went undercover at a gay bar.

Ok then, so this was probably a couple of months after the whole mess in New York went down; SHIELD was still giving me softball missions while my clearance level was under suspension. It was a pretty standard op. SHIELD had their eye on a particularly shady arms dealer and had received a tip that there was going to be some sort of deal going down. So they sent me to keep an eye on it – who was selling, who was buying, what was discussed, all that jazz. The only catch was that the meet-up was set to happen in a gay bar.

Now I’m not gay, but a bar’s a bar, and I figured I could blend well enough regardless of the clientele. Honestly, I’ve run stake-out for meetings at stranger. So I got dressed up, asked Nat for some disguise tips – don’t need those so much at sniper range, and she can dye hair so it actually looks real – and headed to the bar to wait for the mark to show up.

The thing with undercover work is that you need to both establish your persona and ensure you’re prepared for any contingencies on the part of the mark. To this end, I arrived early enough that the dealer wasn’t expected for at least an hour; plenty of time to pick a couple of good vantage points, and get comfortably in-character.

So I ran a loop through the room, then stationed myself at the bar and started casually checking out the other customers. Not like that! For weapons, for tension, for anything that doesn’t fit. You know, anything that might make the mission go sideways. And ok, also like that. What? I was a single guy at a gay bar, it was all part of my cover.

At any rate, one guy eventually caught my attention – on the second criteria, not the first – as he wandered over and took a seat at the bar near me. He wasn’t tall, but carried himself with confidence. Clean-shaved, with short fluffy blond-streaked hair, and lightly purple-tinted glasses. Dressed comparatively conservatively, but the fit of his shirt showing off muscles that clearly came from work not a gym.

Don’t look at me like that. I’m a spy, it’s my job to notice details. And there’s no harm in appreciating well-maintained equipment, even when said equipment is the human body. I’m deaf, not blind. Besides, his appearance didn’t hold my attention for long. Because we got chatting, and his _mind…_ How is it fair that one person can be interesting, charming, and sarcastically funny all at once? Come on, leave something for the rest of us.

Well, whatever anyone says, I refuse to admit that I got so involved in our conversation that I lost track of time and missed the mark entering the room. I am a professional, and would never let myself get distracted like that on a job. Even when the job has, realistically, nominal value. Nope, never.

Anyway. Whether I did or not is thankfully a moot point, because it was about then that my companion excused himself to meet a friend he had been waiting for. Any other time I would have been put out by the interruption but, as it was, I suddenly discovered a pressing need to ‘visit the restroom’ on the far side of the bar.

So we parted ways. He vanished into the crowd, and I worked my way over to one of the vantage points I’d scouted out earlier. It took me a fair few minutes; moving with the flow of people, taking a moment to actually duck into the bathroom – surveillance is hell on a full bladder. At any rate, by the time I got settled the mark was already talking with a potential customer, conversation well underway. Hence why I really should have started moving into position as soon as they arrived. Oops. But nothing for it, and at least I could still catch the later part of their discussion.

Except, once I got a closer look at the mark’s companion, I completely forgot to focus on their words.

_It was the same guy I’d spent the last hour chatting to!_

The same shirt the same hair, the same glasses. Only his smile was different; warm flirtation and humour gone, replaced by something colder and hard.

I tuned back in as the guy replied to something the mark said, realising I’d missed more of the meeting that I’d thought. In other words, pretty much all the important stuff, if not the interesting stuff. Because what went down next… I can even remember the exact phrasing.

“…You see, you’ve made two mistakes today. The first was dealing in Stark weapons. The second, was trying to sell them to _me_.” And that smile was changing again, to something sharper, almost familiar. A smile that really should be framed by a dark… goatee…

Oh.

That arms dealer was about to have one _hell_ of a bad day. A few beats later, the mark must have come to the same realisation – that trying to foist black-market Stark weapons off to _Stark himself_ was a really, really bad idea – and bolted.

Not that he got very far, given that when he ran, he did so straight at me.

Given any simple surveillance intel was pretty much useless at this point, I broke my cover, grabbing the mark and dragging him back over to Stark. And _wow_ it was odd matching the name with the disguise.

Watching Stark go through the same process of realisation was hilarious. First, surprise that someone had directly intervened in the situation. Then recognition that I was the person he’d met earlier. Then recognition _again,_ realising that I’m me.

Then his public mask went back up as he turned to deal with everyone checking out the commotion. I don’t remember what excuse he used, but it must have worked. Because it wasn’t long before I was using my ID at the local police station to get the dealer held until Stark and SHIELD worked out an arrangement, and the organisation picked him up.

By the time we finished organising all that it was quite late, so I gladly accepted Stark’s offer to crash at his, rather than making my way back across town to my apartment. I’ll admit that I was subconsciously expecting a couch – and even that would have been a vast improvement on some places I’ve slept – but Stark being Stark, I had my choice of two spare bedrooms… or was it three?

Anyway, we saw each other briefly the next morning as pre-caffeine zombies, but he had a meeting, and I had a debriefing, so we both headed off and that was that. 

The End.

... 

What? You’re really going to make me…? _Fine_.

So, maybe the next week we both ended up back at the same bar, but without a mark to interrupt us. And maybe going home with Tony the second time involved a lot less spare bedrooms – although a bit of couch – and a lot more exercise. And maybe that became a regular thing and I decided I might be a bit gay after all. Better?


End file.
